Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  “I think I will, Mrs Crabtree. I’m so, so tired. Thank you.”

  When she was alone in the room, Phoebe allowed the tears to flow again. She prayed that Earl Portree, now Duke Carlisle, and his wife would not send those she loved away. She prayed they wouldn’t send her away.

  *******

  A week later, Phoebe was out in the little herb garden behind the great house. The fragrant smelling utility garden had always been her secret place to go. Whenever she was happy, or sad, or just wanting to be alone, she would go down to the kitchen and sneak through the scullery to get to her refuge.

  She was reading a letter from Lord Thomas. She was delighted that he planned to come and visit her. She thought how fun it might be to host a small dinner party and decided she’d ask Mr Harris and Mrs Crabtree about it.

  The back gate squealed with dry hinges, and Phoebe looked up to see Mary entering the garden from the other side through the wilderness. There was a slight pucker between Mary’s eyebrows. “My Lady ... you must come quickly. The Earl is here.”

  “What? But it’s been only a few days. How could they have come so quickly?”

  “I don’t know My Lady, but he ... he’s alone, My Lady.”

  “Alone? He didn’t bring the Countess? How odd.”

  “No, My Lady. There is no Countess.”

  “What do you mean, no Countess?”

  “The Countess is long gone, Lady Phoebe ... dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes. She had an accident and fell down the stairs some three years ago.”

  “I had no knowledge, but it’s not as if all the Sinclair kin are close.”

  “The Duke is in your sitting room, My Lady.”

  “Oh dear. Do I look presentable, Mary?”

  “You always look lovely, My Lady. Here, let me help you.”

  “I don’t want to look lovely. I want to look elegant. Imposing.”

  Mary took Phoebe’s book and the herb basket without another word. The two women made their way back into the house through the scullery and kitchen. Phoebe took a deep breath and headed up the backstairs so she could get to her sitting room more quickly.

  Outside the door she steadied her breath and smoothed her skirt. She forced a smile, turned the handle, and entered the room.

  The new Duke of Carlisle stood and bowed as Phoebe went in. He was tall and imposing and, all of a sudden, Phoebe felt tiny and insignificant.

  “Cousin. It is good to see you again, albeit the circumstances.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I thank you for coming.”

  “Ahh. Your Grace. Has a certain ring to it, does it not?”

  Phoebe said nothing.

  The Duke continued undeterred. “I want to go to London to see the townhouse, but that won’t be for a while. I have much business in Edinburgh. I will depart on the morrow.”

  “I see. My father’s former bedchamber is made up and ready for you, Your Grace.”

  “That is kind. And I have some business to discuss with you, dear cousin.” His eyes travelled down her form, and she felt suddenly uncomfortable alone with him in the tiny room with the door closed. She made her way to the bell on the wall and pulled the cord.

  In a moment, Mary knocked lightly and opened the door. She curtsied to Carlisle, “Your Grace,” then she turned her attention to Phoebe, “you rang My Lady?”

  “Yes. Might we have some refreshment? The Duke and I have some, uh, business to discuss. You may leave the door open, Mary.”

  “Very good, My Lady.” Mary’s eyes met Phoebe’s. Then she was gone from the room in a heartbeat. Her brief presence, though, had given Phoebe time enough to gather her wits. And her strength.

  “So, you were saying, Your Grace?” Phoebe took a seat by the fire. The sound of the wood crackling and sparking behind the screen caused her to feel stronger and surer of herself.

  “I may as well come to the point. There’s no use beating around the bush now, is there?”

  “As you wish, Your Grace. What is the point you speak of?”

  “My new estate, of course. I will want to be selling both properties. I have a life in Scotland, dear lady. And I want you to join me there. As my wife. I’ve been alone for some time. My dear Janet being gone from me these three years.”

  Phoebe felt the air leave her lungs. She was at a loss for words. Mary tapped on the door and entered the room with a tray bearing fruit, bread, cheese, and small cakes. There was sherry for the gentleman and orgeat lemonade for Phoebe.

  “Will that be all, My Lady?”

  “That will be all, girl.” The Duke dismissed Mary abruptly.

  “My condolences for the death of the Countess, Your Grace. You speak of very great changes for me. I, myself, am still in the throes of grief over the death of my dear father. I cannot make any decisions so important as that which you are suggesting.”

  “Come now, dear cousin. With respect, My Lady, you don’t have much of a choice, do you? Is there a gentleman courting you that I have no knowledge of? Can he offer you the sort of life I am offering? You have nothing, my lady. There are not many options for a woman, alone, regardless of her station. I am giving you a grand opportunity cousin. You can continue your life of leisure at Duncan Castle, the ancestral home of my mother’s people. Or, I suppose you could become a governess, or possibly try your hand at seamstress work.”

  “I’m sure you are quite generous in your offer, Your Grace. But, I must have time. I need some time to consider such an offer.”

  “Please do not let me rush your choice, but there is little time. As I said, I must return to my home tomorrow to attend to business. You will stay here; I do not wish for you to have exposure to the typhus in London, and I cannot take you back to Scotland unless you are my wife. I will be back in a few days, and then I will be gone again for three to four months. That will give you more than enough time to consider our union and the benefits therein for you.”

  Carlisle picked up the glass of sherry and drained it. “Now, I will retire to my bedchamber. I would very much like a bath before dinner. What’s my new man’s name? Harris? This will be as an audition for him.” The Duke winked at Phoebe and stood. “Now, if you will excuse me. Where do I find ... uh, Harris?” The earl pulled the cord Phoebe had pulled earlier. “Is this it?”

  “No sir. That’s Mary only. She is my personal maid.”

  “I have many you may choose from at Duncan, Lady Phoebe.”

  Mary came into the room. “My Lady?”

  “It’s nothing Mary. I’m sorry.”

  “See to it that Harris prepares a bath for me, Mary. That will be all.”

  Mary’s eyes flitted to Phoebe, who was looking down, then back to the Duke. She curtsied, “Yes, Your Grace,” and left the room followed by him.

  He called out “Harris, good man, where are you about?”

  Phoebe heard the Duke’s voice grow faint. This was not at all what she’d thought might happen. Her cousin had essentially told her that her entire existence was to change. And worse, it was to change according to his plans. She felt herself growing short of breath and went to the little cabinet next to her desk.

  There was a tiny bottle of laudanum in the cabinet that she kept on hand for when she had pain during her monthly bleeding time. Phoebe poured some of the contents into her lemonade and drank it down.

  Ten minutes later, she felt calmer and able to sit without the urge to flee. Inside, she was panicking, but on the outside she resembled any fine lady relaxing in her sitting room on a leisurely afternoon. And she pondered the words her father had left her with. Atwater, he’d said to be nice to Atwater. Strange. Phoebe decided he must have been delirious, thinking of his recently departed friend the first Duke.

  Downstairs in the servants’ hall, Mary sat at the table having just composed a letter of her own. It was addressed to Lord Robert Weston, His Grace, the Duke of Atwater. She wrote that she did not believe the rumours about him regarding Lady Judith. She wrote that Lady Phoebe need
ed help.

  Lady Phoebe needed rescue from her father’s heir. Mary reminded the Duke that he was a good and fair man, and then she signed and sealed the letter. She went out to the mews to speak to the groom.

  “Eddie, I know this is below your station, but I need someone I can trust to deliver this letter straightaway.”

  “You’ve come to the right man, Miss O’Reilly.”

  Mary gave him a brief smile. “The letter is to go to His Grace, Duke Atwater. It must be delivered directly to his hand. Will you do that for Lady Phoebe?”

  “Of course, Miss Mary. I’ll take my Buttercup, she’s the fastest filly in three counties. Comes from good Irish sport stock she does. Give me the letter, Miss; I’ll have it to the Duke in short time.”

  “Thank you, Eddie. Godspeed.”

  “Yes, Miss Mary.”

  “And Eddie, be sure no one sees you.”

  The groom nodded and urged Buttercup into the passageway to the street. Mary listened as the echo of hooves grew fainter.

  Chapter 4

  Atwater walked into Brooks’. It was eight o’clock in the evening, and he wanted a drink. And he wanted to find Lord Thomas. The previous two months had been a whirlwind of bad news, funerals, and life-changing events. He found himself missing his brother and regretting the nearly constant sibling rivalry they’d indulged in since they were young boys.

  Even the 1st Duke, who never failed to alert Lord Robert that he was doing something wrong or making a mistake of some sort, was missed.

  Lord Robert smiled wryly. It was ironic, indeed, that he now was the Duke of Atwater. He wondered if his father spun in his grave. Especially when Robert thought about what his mother had told him about his actual father. An Irishman. And a groom.

  Robert had always been an exceptional rider. He had a way with horses. The animals trusted him, and he found no greater pleasure than riding. Lord Thomas joked with him that even whist placed second after horses. He chuckled at the thought and spied Tom at the usual spot by the fireplace. Robert was on the far side of the lounge. He raised his hand in greeting, and Tom waved.

  “How are you, Your Grace? You look like you haven’t slept in days.” Tom’s eyebrows rose. “Do I have to be worried about you, Your Grace?” Tom smiled, but his eyes looked concerned.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Lord Thomas,” Atwater snarled. “I don’t know how I am, Tom. Maybe I should go back out to Hempstead. Wait out the typhus like anyone else who’s in their right mind. How are you?” Lord Robert sunk into one of the comfortable chairs.

  “Fine, although I wouldn’t be here if you were at Hempstead. I’d be with the rest of my family in the country. But, you know how it is. The second son’s whereabouts is not a concern when the first son is with the family.”

  He grinned.

  “Why don’t you come to Hempstead with me?”

  “That’s a grand idea. We can visit Lady Phoebe at Pinebrook Manor.”

  The Duke’s face clouded. “I don’t know if that would be appropriate.”

  “Appropriate? Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?”

  “Look, we’re alone Tom, will you please call me Robert? Nothing has changed between us.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “Robert, please don’t avoid the question. Why do you think it would be inappropriate to visit Lady Phoebe?”

  “No reason, really. Except she, for lack of a better word, my friend, hates me.”

  “I know for a fact that’s not true. You read her wrong, Robert.”

  “Do I? She barely spoke to me at the funeral. And then with Judith about to make some kind of scene back at the house, I was so preoccupied that I didn’t notice Phoebe had left without a word. It was quite uncomfortable.

  And, Lady Judith has changed so from who she was before her tour. She’s serious, and then laughs at inappropriate times. She’s silent when she should speak. Do you imagine the shock of losing the Duchess brought out a side of her none of us could have foreseen? A well hidden side?”

  Tom nodded, “It’s possible, I suppose.”

  “I still feel something is not right, Tom. I told you, her eyes are different. I knew my cousin well. I mean, I was in love with her. I’d spent hours gazing into her eyes prior to her departure. And you know I wanted to marry her when she was seventeen. But she said she was too young. Despite the fact that her parents would have blessed us, she said she was too young. So I waited for her to come back, only to have her return as a very different woman. I’ve never known anyone to be so changed by maturity.”

  “It is curious. I don’t know what to make of it. Do you reckon she might have an addiction to laudanum? That can cause mood swings and the like.”

  “I never thought of it. Laudanum does cause changes in the eyes.”

  “And what about Lady Phoebe? Can you reconcile your thoughts about her?”

  Atwater shrugged. “I should be asking you about Lady Phoebe. You’ve been escorting her around and seeing to her.”

  “I feel for Lady Phoebe as if she’s my sister. Truly. I love her dearly, but she and I are not involved in any other way. Nor have we ever been. I know we’ve been high on the list of gossip topics, but I let that be as it may. It hurts no one and takes some of the attention off of your alleged transgression with Lady Judith.”

  “I fear, as I’ve already said, that Lady Phoebe dislikes me intensely. There, I have not used the word hate. Happy, My Lord?”

  “Robert. She is confused. Judith has filled her ears with awful stories about you. Phoebe doesn’t know who or what to believe.”

  “Why would Judith purposely go about making things so difficult for me?”

  “Do you want my honest answer, Robert?”

  “I do.”

  “I believe she’s attempting to blackmail you. She clearly wants your attentions to herself. She sees a Duke, my friend. She is an ambitious woman remember, and it seems she will do anything to become a Duchess. I think she made up the lie to get the attention of your brother. I saw it happening, but I couldn’t decipher it. When James died, and Judith turned her eye on you, it became clear to me.”

  “So now Judith wants me, and Lady Phoebe hates me because she thinks I’m a rogue. She thinks I’m not fit to be a Duke. She is angry with me on Judith’s behalf, yet Judith has allegedly forgiven me.”

  “Time heals, Robert. Some time needs to pass. The truth always comes out one way or another. But suffice it to say, I don’t believe Lady Phoebe hates you. At all. In fact, I think it’s quite the opposite. I think she might be in love with you. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Robert laughed. “You have a strange view of what love looks like Tom. Let us go. We’ll take my carriage to Hempstead.”

  “Whatever suits you, Your Grace.” Tom patted his friend on the back, and the two men left the club.

  When they arrived at Regent Street, Terence met them at the door. “Your Grace, there is a man from Pinebrook Manor in the drawing room. He has a letter, from Miss O’Reilly, the maid to Lady Phoebe Sinclair.”

  “Mary? Why ever would she be sending me a letter? Where’d you say the man is, Terence? In the drawing room?”